


One for My Baby

by Annehiggins



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-<em>The Portrait</em> (season 1) Neal has a conversation with Elizabeth, then Peter. No actual Elizabeth/Diana scenes -- Diana is only mentioned. There is NO marital infidelity in this story, it's an AU of Peter and Elizabeth's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One for My Baby

Never try to con a con man. Apparently no one had ever told Kate that. Neal Caffrey felt something die inside him as he listened to her plead with him to reveal where he'd hidden everything. His knuckles grew white from his grip on the receiver and he wondered who uses pay phones these days? Strange thought to have while having his hopes splattered like bird droppings across a taxicab window.

He couldn't stop himself from playing out the scene. Couldn't stop from clinging to his fantasy for a few moments longer. Couldn't even stop himself from running after her. With each step he cursed himself for acting the lovesick fool, but Kate had played him too well for him to simply stop. To his utter humiliation it took an hour sitting alone in his room with a third glass of wine for the worst of it to sink in.

She'd played him like a pro, all right. Exploited his vulnerabilities, maneuvered him with a subtle brilliance that didn't so much as flicker until the very end. She'd gotten overanxious then. Eyes too fixed on the prize to keep things real enough. She'd never asked why he was out of prison and free to follow her clues. Which meant she knew about his deal with the FBI, but she'd never mentioned it or said anything about his new friends not being able to help them. Avoided the subject, just as she'd carefully avoided giving a single detail about the man who would 'let her come home' if Neal turned everything over to her. He spared a moment to wonder if the 'man with the ring' were her new lover, a partner or some sap tapping her on the shoulder to ask her for directions to Sea World. He smirked at himself. Yes, that would be the perfect touch. A fabrication of his own that she turned to her advantage. He approved.

Neal sighed and took another sip. A pity June didn't stock anything cheap he could chug. Should have made Mozzie make a stop on the way home. This sort of day screamed for a bottle of Thunderbird in a brown paper sack. No more hope. He snorted. Hope. What a joke. Never been about hope. He wondered when Kate had figured him out. Did it give her any solace to know she'd stripped him of his last barrier, his last tenuous hold on denial?

He lost track of time, but the light from the window had grown dim as he opened a second bottle. Drinking it too slowly to lose himself in a numb alcoholic haze, but he supposed it gave him something in common with the legions who reached for a pint of Ben & Jerry's and a spoon at the end of a hard day. He poured a glass, then decided to really wallow in things.

The guest room he called home came complete with a decent stereo. He'd bought the CD in it at the thrift store that very first day. Should have told him something, but hey, he liked Sinatra. Only natural he'd buy a collection of his recordings. Right? Smart enough to keep his virtue in prison, but not smart enough to figure out why he kept playing the same CD over and over again. Done with the pretense, he cued up the song he wanted, then hit play. "Set 'em up, Joe," he murmured.

The house was large and old with thick, well-insulated walls between him and the other occupants, so he had no worries of driving anyone but himself mad. A touch of the 'repeat' button kept the room filled with the Frank's bittersweet crooning of _One for my Baby._ For awhile he kept count, but stopped around ten when between the wine and the music he could finally let himself feel. Warmth against him, strong arms around him, a voice murmuring a few of the words in his ear – off-key, but soothing all the same.

The glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, he began to move, dancing along with a memory. How long ago? Obviously at least four years. Had to take into account the trial. So about five years. He closed his eyes and let the restaurant bar take form.

Their third anniversary as a couple, but they'd been fighting. Kate had wanted a fast score and the high life he'd promised her, but Peter Burke and his team were closing in. Time to lay low, not make a splash. He'd hoped a nice meal and a pleasant evening would take the edge off enough to get her to see they needed to wait a few months. Just a few months. Let Peter get bored, reassigned, the flu, anything to get the spotlight off of every move they made. Two hours after their reservation he'd still sat there waiting. He'd known then that they were done. Not meant to be. Except four hours after that he'd walked into their apartment and agreed to everything she'd wanted to do.

He'd ended up in prison because of it, but she'd stuck by him. Visited every week making a mockery of the doubts that had lead him to give her one of the false locations for his stash. Hindsight clear even through the bottom of a wine bottle, he knew now she must have gone to check it out almost the moment Peter had arrested him. Everything since that time had been part of a con to get him to tell her the truth. "Good luck with that, sweetheart." He sighed. Irritated he'd let his mind pull him away from the bar and back to cold hard reality.

To his utter annoyance, he couldn't quite get there again. About ready to throw the bottle against the wall in a fit of pique when a knock on the door saved June's paint job and his welcome. Great. Mozzie must have decided to ignore his demand to be left alone. At least it gave him someone to yell at. He jerked open the door ready to rip his friend the proverbial new one, then froze at the sight of the last person in the world he expected or wanted to see.

"Elizabeth." Peter Burke's wife stood in the hallway outside the guest suite he called home. Large, beautiful eyes looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and worry. She knew. But how in the world could she?

Apparently a mind reader as well as one of the best people he knew, she said, "A Mr. Haversham called the house."

Haversham. The name they'd all agreed Peter would call Mozzie. So his friend had agreed to leave him in peace, but had decided he needed someone else to look after him. "Peter out?"

"At the office," she said with a nod. "Still discussing the missing money. I guess your culprit is trying to use it to cut a deal."

Neal shrugged. "About all he has to work with."

They looked at each other for a few moments, then she asked, "Can I come in?"

He wanted to say no. Wanted to tell her to take her big heart and all-around incredibleness and go. He sighed. "I'm not going to run." Be what Mozzie was afraid of – too upset to think straight, the kid would do something stupid and impulsive like head for parts unknown in an attempt to outrun all his troubles. Peter would share the worry, so his wonderful wife did, too. "I won't."

"I know, sweetie." She gave him a smile. "You love Peter far too much to betray him."

He closed his eyes against the mental blow. So she knew it all and now he'd have to run. He stepped back so she could enter. Owed Peter that much. Momentarily at a loss for words, he got a second wine glass and poured her a drink. What to say, what to say?

She took a sip and gave him a nod of appreciation. One of the things he loved about her – she knew a quality wine when she tasted it. God, how he wished she were some horrible low-brow shrew he could hate. But, then again, what good would that do? Even if he could turn her into some hateful bitch, it wouldn't change her husband's character. Feeling something akin to destroyed as reality once again forced him to let go of an even deeper far more precious fantasy, he told her the miserable tale, leading with the pathetic truth, "All we've ever had was a dance."

Five-years ago, he'd stumbled out of the restaurant in a not-quite-but-close drunken stupor and started walking in the direction he was pointing in when he'd caught his balance. He'd seen a long walk on a cool night as a way to clear his head and put off the big break-up scene he'd have to play out with Kate when he got home. As neither of the two goals had really appealed to him, he'd soon let the sound of some favored music lure him into a club and a martini or six.

Place had comfortable bar stools and a Rat Pack Theme Night going, so Neal had settled in for the duration. Never a man comfortable with relying on others for his continued well-being, he'd let the music soothe him as much as the gin and hadn't slipped beyond a pleasant buzz, so his later attempts to brush it all off as a drunken mistake had never really cut it, but a desperate man could cling to anything.

He sighed. "I was on my third or fourth martini, when Peter sat down on the stool next to me." Desperate, but not pathetic, he'd never once deceived himself about Peter Burke's reason for being there. They'd been playing a cat-and-mouse game for almost three years, and having one of their chats while Neal was as close to three-sheets to the wind as he ever got was just good strategy.

Neal shook his head. If Kate hadn't stood him up, if it had been Disco Night, or if he'd simply thought to call Mozzie to serve as the shoulder to cry on, Peter might never have caught him. But the universe seemed to have decided he'd had his freedom for long enough, and she had, it was Rat Pack Night and any thought of Mozzie had vanished when his favorite pursuer had taken a seat.

Even now he wasn't quite certain how the usual half-hearted crack about Peter's cheap suits had led to the dance floor, but somehow they'd moved from their usual banter to Neal doing the manly version of shoulder crying. "It kind of made Peter's eye twitch," he said with a half-smile.

Elizabeth chuckled. "He always hates the crying. It's because he always wants to fix things."

Except he hadn't. Not really, not that night, because a vulnerable Neal Caffery was a talkative one. He knew that about himself and in that bar he could see disaster looming. After all, the crimes Peter wanted to arrest him for were at the heart of what had made Kate stand Neal up. But once started, it was difficult for Neal to stop talking, especially after a dinner of gin and olives. Salvation had seemed to come in the guise of Neal's favorite song, and he'd blurted out, "Dance with me."

It was his turn to chuckle. "You should have seen his face. All deer-in-the-headlights mixed with who-me?"

"He never has been much of a dancer." Elizabeth sighed. "He has the coordination to be great at it, but he's just too self-conscious to relax. But you got him out onto the dance floor?"

He nodded. "It was a mixed-sexuality crowd so we didn't draw attention, and I pointed out that I tended to let things slip when I slow dance."

She glanced toward the CD player. "Was it this song?"

"Yes."

"Always one of my favorites." She took another sip of her wine, then gave Neal a piercing look. "And the thing about Peter is that he might not be a great dancer, but he has strong arms and a broad chest to rest against."

He blushed. He hadn't done that since … that night. Despite his promise of letting things slip, he'd not said a word once they'd started dancing. Instead he'd lost himself. He could still remember Peter's scent, could still feel the warmth of him as they'd done the slow swaying that turned a long, loose hug into dancing. When all too quickly Frank had wound down, Neal had looked up into Peter's eyes and had so desperately wanted … a kiss, a touch, pretty words, all the things Peter could have done to make Neal's world right again.

None of it had happened. Instead for a few heartbeats they'd stood there staring into each other's eyes. Then Neal had remembered all Peter wanted was to make an arrest. Feeling like an utter wretched fool, Neal had blushed hotly, pulled out of his arms and pretty much ran out of the club. He'd gone home, begged Kate for forgiveness, then had agreed to push forward with his scheme instead of waiting. Which led to Peter getting what he'd wanted – Neal Caffery behind bars.

"You fell in love with him during the dance."

Neal's gaze dropped to the floor. He couldn't look at her and have this part of the conversation. "Or realized I had been for awhile." He forced himself to look her in the eye long enough to say, "But he never did anything to betray you."

She gave him a gentle smile before he turned his attention back to the floor. "I know." He didn't look back up when she touched his arm. "And sometimes you wonder if you might have deliberately made a mistake so he could catch you."

Neal worried his bottom lip with his teeth. Because, yes, he did. He liked giving gifts. And Peter had never wanted anything else while Kate had never really wanted him at all.

Her fingers gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "If it means anything, I don't think you did. The same unconscious impulse that might have led to it would also have known Peter would never have enjoyed it if you'd simply let him win."

She touched his jaw, compelling him to look up. "But I've often thought you escaped to recapture his attention."

"I don't know," he admitted. He'd not wanted to lose Kate. He'd thought he'd loved her, but knew now she'd become the emotional shield between himself and his feelings for Peter. If he'd let her vanish, he'd have had to admit he was going to spend the rest of his life in love with the FBI agent who'd put him in prison.

"But you put together the idea of working with Peter before you escaped, didn't you?"

He nodded. Plan B because he'd known he couldn't endure another 4 years in prison.

"And it never occurred to you to question the coincidence of her disappearing just before you broke out?"

He blinked. What? "It took too long for me to get things set up."

She gave him a sad smile. "Sweetie, she'd have been gone by just a couple of days if you'd waited until your sentence was up. You have to know that now."

Because their relationship and her hopes to gain access to his wealth would have vanished quickly if he'd merely come home to her – hence her ploy to set up her own kidnapping. And he would have had no need for Plan B. God. He _had_ done it all for Peter. He was really that far gone for the man and that deeply deluded about Kate. His knees felt weak and he sank – would have gone all the way down to the floor, but Elizabeth maneuvered him so he hit a chair instead. It took him a few moments to find his voice, but he finally asked, "Does Peter know?"

"Yes."

Of course he did. Peter could read him like a book and obviously shared everything with Elizabeth. Used her as the sounding board for his theories, which told Neal loud and clear how little a threat either of the Burkes considered him to their marriage. "It seems I've made quite a fool of myself."

He wouldn't be able to face Peter after this. Wouldn't be able to endure the pity-laced undercurrents of their relationship. He wanted to run. God, he wanted to run and try to bury his sorrow in the sand of some sun-baked beach far away, but Peter had vouched for him and one of them being a fool was enough. Which left him with only one real option – he'd have to go back to prison. Maybe they'd take some time off his sentence for good works done or something. His sigh shuddered through his body, but yes, it was the right decision. "I'll … I'll talk to Hughes in the morning. Try to get Peter off the hook about the money before I get sent back."

"You'll do no such thing," Elizabeth snapped. "Peter will recover the money, and it would destroy him if you went back to prison."

He never wanted to hate her more than he did in that moment. She'd helped strip away every pretense that let him work comfortably with Peter, then said the one thing she knew would keep him here and miserable at least until his sentence was up. But she was Peter's wife and had every right to defend him against even those who also loved him. "All right," he said, his voice as hollow as he felt. Tired, drained. Worse than the first day of prison with four long years ahead of him.

"Sweetie, there's something else you need to know," she said, sitting down on the arm of the chair, and putting her arm around his shoulders.

"Not sure I can take much more," he whispered.

"Peter and I are getting a divorce."

"What?" He leaped to his feet and whirled around to stare at her. "Why?"

"Because I'm in love with Diane."

None of that sentence made any sense, so he focused on the most inconsequential part. "Diane?"

"Diane Lancing."

He stared at her, hearing Peter's voice telling him once again that this was the FBI and _We don't ask, and we don't care._ "Peter's Diane?"

Elizabeth lips twitched into a smile. "I prefer to think of her as my Diane."

"Is that why she transferred to a different team? Because you were. …" His question trailed off because he would never believe Elizabeth would cheat on Peter. Even though she was standing there telling him herself.

"She transferred because we all agreed it would be less awkward."

"I don't believe this," he said shaking his head. He must have passed out from too much wine and was having some bizarre dream. "You have the perfect marriage."

Another smile. "Peter and I have been best friends since college. Soulmates really," she told him, getting up to move around the room as she talked. "Everyone thought we should get married and we made a pact that if we were both still single when we hit 30 that we'd give up and give in."

She laughed. "Thirty seemed so old at the time. Like it was pointless to keep looking for someone to be in love with.

"He hit the birthday first and stalked me for a few weeks to make certain I was really as dateless as I'd said. We flew to Vegas and got married on my birthday." She shook her head. "Given we cracked up every time we tried to make love, we came to our senses pretty quickly." Her smile faded. "But before we could decide what to do, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer."

Neal jolted to his feet and reached for her. "Are you all right?"

She gave him a smile that had too much bravery and not enough certainty for his taste. "As right as I can be with that in my past." She let him hold her for a few moments before going to get another glass of wine. "It was a rough time. I don't know how I could have gotten through it without Peter and before we knew it we'd been married for four years. It was comfortable and the house needed two incomes to keep, so we stayed together until, but we've never been lovers."

She took a sip. "At least that's the explanation Peter lets me get away with. The truth is, I spent years waiting for the cancer to reoccur and couldn't see any point to moving on since I was going to die anyway. Peter let me work through it, and then I met Diane."

"So the divorce."

"This weekend she's moving into the house and Peter is moving into her apartment – with full visitation rights for Satchmo or I will so kick his butt."

A genuine smile made it to his face for the first time since he'd taken Kate's phone call. "I'd pay to see that."

"I'll send you free tickets." They shared a grin, but hers faded into an uncomfortable look. "There's one other thing."

"I'm not sure I can handle anything else."

"Peter is in love with you."

He stared at her.

"Oh, please, don't look so shocked. You had to suspect it."

He glared at her. "I thought he was in love with you, so my view of things is obviously impaired."

She rolled her eyes in a manner that rather eloquently said 'men!' And suddenly he did catch a clue.

"He doesn't know you're here."

Elizabeth got really interested in her wine.

"I'll take that as a yes. And he didn't ask you to tell me any of this. Including – no, especially not the 'he's in love with me' part."

"Of course not!" She exploded. "He's too busy being all noble."

"Noble?"

Another eye roll. "If he had it his way, he'd have spent the next three and a half years pining for you."

"Why would he do that if he can have me?"

"Because of the ankle bracelet." The 'you idiot' at the end was strongly implied. "That means he owns your future and that brings consent issues into this."

Okay, he remembered Peter saying something about owning him for the next four years, so she must have it right, but seriously? "He has to know I'd find it a turn on." And he hadn't meant to say that, had he? But this did seem the night for over-sharing.

"He has his own impaired moments."

"So he wants to wait until I'm a free man able to tell him to take a hike without fear of prison walls?"

"Right, but he still won't make a move on you then."

"What? Why not? No, wait. …." He let himself put it all together and came up with something really stupid. Sweet and noble, but really stupid. "He'll think I've gone all Stockholm Syndrome and won't believe I really love him."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Really love him?

Neal glared for a moment, then came as close to bellowing as he ever did, "Isn't that what this whole damned night has been about?"

"No, this night has been about you loving someone you couldn't have. You need to decide if you still love him when you can." She sat down her glass, then moved toward his door. She stopped in the doorway and said, "And Neal, think really hard about that, because if you hurt him, it'll be your ass I kick."

She left, leaving Neal to deal with all she'd told him. For some reason the battle cry of the old He-Man cartoon he'd grown up on kept echoing through his thoughts. And how ironic was that? _I have the power!_ Peter wouldn't make a move because he thought he had all of it, but Neal was the one who could inflict the real pain. It made a lot of their interactions make sense – Peter's constant threats to send him back to prison would be his way of reminding Neal why they were a bad idea, while his warnings about Kate were a plea not to leave him. In an undercurrent sort of way, of course. Question was, what did he do about it?

*

Peter finished unpacking the box labeled 'bathroom,' then turned his attention to the one marked 'bedding.' It had been a long time since he'd last moved, but he remembered those were the two vital boxes to deal with when it came to basic needs. Everything else was all about comfort.

He got the sheets on the bed, pillows in place, then decided to hook up the stereo to take the pain out of the next 5 million and six boxes. When had he ended up with so much stuff? Never had thought of himself as a possession-oriented guy, but he seemed to have collected quite a few since moving into El's house. He sighed. Be a long time before he got used to not seeing her every day, but he had to admit he'd had the same thoughts about his parents when he'd gone off to college. Hadn't and didn't make it any less of time to move on. Which brought yet another round of unwelcome thoughts about who he desperately wanted to move on to.

Damnit. Bad enough he wanted Neal so much it made his teeth hurt, but El had to go and decide to nag at him to go for it. He manfully maintained it wasn't right while wisely not saying a word about her just trying to rid herself of any needless guilt about her having the good sense to fall for someone suitable. He smiled at that. Diane made a great match for El, even if it had cost him the best probie he'd ever had. But Cruz was working out well, so no real regrets. Not as long as El was happy. Although she certainly hadn't traded up on a significant other with better hours. Then again, El worked crazy hours herself. One of the reasons they'd stayed together for so long. While they might get irritated from time to time, both had understood the craziness of the other's career choice. She'd still have that with Diane.

Tried hard not to think he could have that with Neal. Heck, he and Neal worked the same hours. Probably too much together time. Which gave him a good opening to go through his list of why this sort of pursuit of Neal was a bad, bad idea. He was up to reason fifty and had unpacked half his CDs when the doorbell rang.

He frowned walking over to the door. No one besides El or Diane knew he'd moved and they had their own unpacking to do. He winced at the thought. He wasn't looking forward to letting the news out, but it wouldn't be a huge shock to anyone at least in principle. Most FBI marriages eventually crashed and burned. Heck, Jones hadn't found it hard to assume that he'd had a mistress that time El had showed up with her best gal pal, Dana.

But some would be stunned. Good bet Neal would be one of them. Not sure what he'd say to him. He didn't like deceptions and had always seen his relationship with El as his own private business, but that sort of aloofness wouldn't work with Neal. But Peter really didn't want to admit he had bisexual leanings. Not to Neal. Not when few days went by when he didn't remember holding the man in his arms while he looked up at Peter as if he'd found the secret of life. A sweet temptation, but not one he'd considered giving into. He and El might not have had a traditional marriage, but they'd never, ever cheated on one another. When her friendship with Diane had started to grow into more, El had sat down with him and they'd talked about things.

They'd slept in the same bed for years – she'd been so cold all the time during her chemo, and he'd not liked letting her out of his sight. Add in months of nightmares caused by a body that had betrayed her, and they'd gotten used to the nighttime snuggling. He'd moved into the guest room after they'd both agreed she should ask Diane out. Point was, they'd talked about it and made a decision together. She hadn't given into some impulse to fall into bed because Diane had looked at her with eyes glazed with alcohol and want.

So it hadn't been a close thing that dance with Neal – Peter's code of conduct would never have allowed it on any front – but it had been the first time he'd known that while his friendship with El was eternal, their marriage was not.

He looked through the peephole and scowled. Neal. Another eternal thing about El was her tendency to decide what was right for him. His aggravating soulmate out of reach for the moment, he yanked open the door and fixed the smiling man holding up a bottle of wine a glower.

Undeterred and clearly unimpressed, Neal slipped around him and into the apartment while announcing, "I come bearing gifts and an expertise in unpacking."

"I don't remember asking for help," he muttered, closing the door.

"Of course not," Neal said sounding way too much like El for Peter's sanity. "But here I am anyway, so you might as well take advantage."

Peter's eyes narrowed at both the choice of words and the too innocent look on Neal's face. "She told you."

"Yep."

He'd kill her. Slowly. And hide the body in different states. "All of it?" he asked, already knowing the answer because this was El they were talking about and she loved the idea of him and Neal together. Had all but asked for pictures if it ever happened. Which it would not.

"Pretty much." He frowned. "At least I hope so. You aren't long-lost royalty or anything, are you?"

Peter rolled his eyes while Neal grinned, then turned around to fuss with the CD player. Good with his gun, but better with his brain, Peter wasn't surprised when _One for my Baby_ started playing. "Neal, this isn't happening," he growled.

"Do you really think you can fight El and me?" he asked, moving in close and looping his arms around Peter's neck.

"There's a first time for everything," he insisted, but found his own arms treacherously sliding up and around to embrace Neal.

"Hmmm." He sounded more amused than worried that Peter could finally grow a set where those two were concerned, and began to sway with the music, forcing Peter to move with him or let go. And his arms refused to comply with his orders to do so.

God, Neal felt good. Strong, lean muscles pressed up against him; soft, clean-smelling hair against his cheek. Despite all 212 reasons not to get involved with him, Peter couldn't help enjoying the moment, letting himself believe they could have more.

When the song ended, Neal looked up at him with same adoration he had five years ago, but this time his eyes weren't over-bright from a few martinis too many. "This is not a good idea," he tried one more time.

"I won't hurt you, Peter," he whispered. "And the only way you can hurt me is by sending me away."

Pure El coaching. "That just leaves 210," he protested to both his guest and his absent ex-wife-to-be.

Neal rolled his eyes. "I don't even want to know," he said, then wiped out every argument on the list with a very determined kiss.

Fine. If he was going to get steamrolled into this relationship, he was at least not going to be steamrolled in bed. He managed to pull Neal even closer, then invaded that all too sweet mouth with a push of his tongue.

A sound of approval rumbled through their kiss, and Peter lost himself into the pursuit of the bedroom and ridding both of them of far too many clothes. But as they fell onto the bed, the brush of plastic against his bare foreleg brought him crashing back to Earth. He forced himself to pull away from Neal and stared at the tracking device.

"No, damnit," Neal protested, pulling at his shoulders.

"I can't do this," he whispered, appalled at how close he'd come. He tried to get out of the bed, but Neal hung on tight. "Let go!"

Neal ignored him. "I think of it as a wedding ring."

Peter stopped trying to escape and gave him an incredulous look. "What?"

"It's a symbol of my promise to stay with you."

"A ring doesn't let me throw your ass back in prison." His voice reflected the mix of despair and bitterness the thought twisted through him.

Neal shook his head. "Peter, Peter, don't you think it's time we both stopped pretending I couldn't cut this thing and vanish anytime I want?"

"I-"

"Not to mention there's already been one case when I got to remove it in the name of law-and-order. No doubt there will be others." With the obvious opportunities for escape attached. "And I've escaped from prison once. I can do it again if I have to."

"I'll catch you again."

"Not if I leave the country. But you're missing the point here. I love you, and I trust you to never take advantage of any power you think you have over me."

"Doesn't sound like a wise thing to do – trust a man with a broken heart."

"Most men aren't Peter Burke." Neal smiled. "And I've always held him in high regard."

"I'm not perfect, Neal. I won't take it well if we try this and you decide you want to end it."

"Not going to happen."

"But if it does—"

"If hell freezes over, just trust I can handle the fallout." He kissed Peter again, slowly drawing him back down and over Neal's body. "And we both know you trust me. Even if you do verify."

Yeah, he did. On both counts. "I still think this is a mistake," he muttered, but … "You are so damned beautiful."

"And yours," he murmured against Peter's lips. "All yours."

Their lips touched, then Peter deepened the kiss again. Nice. Could have kissed Neal for hours, but a different sort of plastic was pushed into his hand. Reluctantly he broke the kiss to look and found himself clutching a tube of lube. Neal had said he'd come bearing gifts. Plural. But this? "Are you sure?"

"For five years."

In a celibate marriage for ten years, and not a big dater before that, Peter didn't have much experience with this sort of thing, but surveillance could prove surprisingly educational at times, so he knew what to do. Stretch him first. One lubed up finger. A second. Finally a third.

He tried to keep focused, make certain he did it right so he wouldn't hurt Neal, but the man kept making these noises. A sort of moaning whine that made Peter's skin feel hot and tight, while his cock felt hard enough to replace the hammer in his toolbox. "Neal. …"

"Now, damn you," Neal panted, pulling at him, squirming like he was trying to find a way to impale himself, but couldn't get the right angle.

"Okay, okay." Still half-certain this was a disastrous idea, he slicked himself up, then guided Neal's legs into position. A push, and … oh, God, that felt good.

Neal gasped and arched into his thrusts. Beautiful. So, beautiful. And his. All his. Weeks, even years of foreplay, made every movement burn with intensity, and neither lasted more than three thrusts after Peter found Neal's prostate. With a keening wail Neal came, spurting between them, while Peter shuddered his release into the gorgeous body.

For a moment neither moved, then on limbs that felt like wet noodles, Peter eased out, then shifted to one side. Immediately, Neal curled up against him. It felt … almost familiar. Like they'd done it a million times before and would do so twice as many times in the future.

The future. The word echoed in Peter's mind like a bucket of ice water dashed over his body. What sort of future could they have? If Hughes found out. … The thought made him shiver, and he pulled Neal even closer. An honest man at heart, he was looking at four years of deception about something devastatingly important to him. And then? "What … what happens if it stays hot?"

"Hmmm?"

"What happens if hell stays hot and the tracker comes off?"

Neal shifted up onto an elbow and looked at him with a gentle smile. "Then the FBI either hires me legitimately or I retire to write my memoirs and bring you lunch every day."

Peter couldn't help but smile at the image. "Except Wednesday."

"Why not Wednesday?" Neal asked, settling back down against him.

"I promised El we'd have lunch every Wednesday." Barring case interference and catering disasters, of course. But they'd kept every promise they'd ever made to each other, and neither of them was about to start breaking them now.

"Fair enough," he answered. "I promised we'd all have dinner every other Sunday."

Peter smiled. No way in hell this could work out well. But somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that it would. "Fair enough." More than.

end

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during season 1 and although I still adore the series, I have yet to finish anything else and don't read much of the fan fic because, while I do love Elizabeth, I LOATHE threesome fics. Unfortunately -- for me -- that describes most of the WC slash fic out there. I went a different route for this. So maybe I'll finish the other stories or WC may be just a 1 shot fic for me. In any case, here's the original note for the story:
> 
> I was seriously not impressed with Kate's appearance in _The Portrait_. Feel like I have to either acknowledge seriously contrived dialog (in the avoid giving away details any normal person would have given sense) in an otherwise slick show or she's the heartless con artist Neal could never be. I chose the latter. (Follow up note: I still think Kate as a bad guy was the original plan for the series, but fan response wasn't favorable to the mid-season cliff and the producers changed the storyline. To my knowledge, the never said what the change was, but I'm betting Kate's character was at the center of it.)


End file.
